


the blackest night

by to-the-voiceless (larkgrace)



Series: oathkeepers [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Dark Knight Questline (Final Fantasy XIV) Spoilers, F/M, imagine the "shame my pet meme" but it's aymeric, please learn to use a cooldown my man, the sign around his neck says "3 mil hp pld with no shield"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:33:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24530857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/larkgrace/pseuds/to-the-voiceless
Summary: When the gates of Ala Mhigo fell open, Ishgard was proud to lead the van.(At least Aymeric had never truly expected to be first across the wall, not with Hanami on the field—she had never suffered him to run ahead of her before, and he doubted she would start today.)--Originally written during the FFXIVWrite 2019 event for the prompt "Radiant."
Relationships: Aymeric de Borel/Warrior of Light
Series: oathkeepers [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1838854
Comments: 6
Kudos: 34





	the blackest night

**Author's Note:**

> i came up with this idea the first time i ran the ala mhigo instance (shortly after 4.1 release!) and wrote the original version of this fic back in september, so it's been brewing for a _long_ time. i was prompted to go back and revise this after i saved my co-tank's ass in e6 last week.
> 
> (god i miss abyssal drain spam.)

When the gates of Ala Mhigo fell open, Ishgard was proud to lead the van. 

Aymeric had been the one to propose the strategy, before the council of Alliance leaders, with Lucia at his side. Ishgard’s knights had lived through centuries of urban war, most recently under the command of a former Garlean spy, and they tested the mettle of their armor against dragonfire—the Imperial handguns that would drop one of the Adders’ conjurers where they stood would simply glance off the gleaming mythril of a well-maintained shield. Their skills would best serve at the front of the charge, drawing fire with the Resistance pikemen and the Maelstrom’s marauders while the thaumaturges and archers rained death upon the Garleans who came to meet them.

A sound strategy all around, though as with all of the best-laid plans it did not survive first contact with the enemy—or rather, first contact with the young lord of Doma and his cavalry, which was perhaps not a perfect descriptor as they were mounted on _massive raptors._ At least Aymeric had never truly expected to be first across the wall, not with Hanami on the field—she had never suffered him to run ahead of her before, and he doubted she would start today.

(When she had come across the bridge into Porta Praetoria, the white of her scales gleaming under the Gyr Abanian sun, she had looked like a sunrise in reverse, light coming west to grace them. Lucia had stepped rather pointedly on his foot to keep him from staring, helpless as he had been in the face of their reunion; she had written a scant handful of letters in her endearingly clumsy Common, and treated him to a few words whispered over a crackling linkpearl connection, but none of that could have prepared him for the sight of her in her armored coat draped in red and orange from her homeland, or her hair loose and dark and tinted almost red in the fading light. Not that any of his borrowed restraint had mattered, as Hanami had marched up the stairs herself to bury her face in his chest in front of the Fury and half the Alliance and say _I thought you would do something stupid without me.)_

True to form, when the dust had cleared from the first explosion Hanami and her handful of adventurers had already been halfway down the thoroughfare leading into the city proper. He hadn’t been able to keep track of her as he and Lucia and their contingent of knights cut a path to the palace gates; not even Ishgard’s finest could keep up with a one-woman army and a band of adventurers who dedicated their lives to the art of battlefield combat. Instead, he had only seen flickers of her, like an afterimage, shadows burned into his eyes in the wake of bright light: a ring of dark fangs piercing the cobbles, heralded by a sound like a distant scream, that sent a chill down Aymeric’s spine even while he saw the Garlean soldiers caught in the thrall of her magic turn their weapons on their own in a panic. A shock of deep red spikes, launched into the midst of a group of Imperial gunners blocking the road with their cannon, shooting through their chests, pulsing again and again before drawing the wounded survivors around a corner, howling for retribution. An explosion before the palace gates, a magitek monstrosity launching cannons blindly with a graceful guillotine embedded in what passed for a face. 

Aymeric’s contingent passed Hanami as she was pulling her sword free of the smoking metal ruin; her companions had paused to assess their hurts, an Elezen arcanist passing glowing hands over a Miqo’te with a bleeding shoulder. There was no time to talk, but Aymeric’s heart swelled with equal parts pride and relief, to see her standing still. If fate was kind, he would be able to clear the way ahead, to make her journey across the interior of the palace as safe as possible—

“Cover!” Lucia barked, and Aymeric’s heart skipped a beat at the rattle of gunfire. Not a single shot—rapid fire, one of the ungodly machine guns the Empire was so fond of turning on crowds, and when the lancers ducked behind the raised shields of the knights Aymeric found himself on the wrong side of the wall of steel.

The first lucky bullet echoed off the armor at his shoulder, and he prepared to turn his back, to try and cover his guts if nothing else—

Warmth was the first thing he felt, like hot blood from a wound without the pain to accompany it. It crawled over his skin, limned his body in heat, almost uncomfortable, like standing too close to a fire. Red light flickered across his armor, short streaks of levin, and then the light around him faded, dampened by a curtain of shadow that fell over him. Blue and purple runes traced around his feet where the darkness puddled on the stone.

_—your darkest hour—with you, always—who else could I love—_

The darkness swelled, curled around him like giants’ arms, and the hail of bullets crumbled to ash before they could touch his skin, nothing but flashes of black fire to mark their passing. The gunfire abated as quickly as it had started, soldiers sent flying after a dive from a passing yol or crumpling to their knees with arrows sprouting from their necks, and the black wall oozed down to the cobbles, vanishing in wisps of phantom smoke, the runes fading into shadow. 

“My lord!” one of the lancers yelled, shields dropping as his knights swarmed him with concern, but Aymeric craned his neck, looking over the helms and the smoking ruins to find Hanami, black and red levin flickering around her body, one hand still extended, her sword wreathed in red fire. She grinned so fiercely he could see it from her spot at the top of the stairs, relief loosening the set of her shoulders, sunlight glinting off her bared teeth, and then she turned to follow her companions into the palace, her hair flying behind her like the trail of a dark comet.

“Ser,” Lucia barked, snagging his attention away from the palace gates. “Are you unharmed?”

Aymeric brushed a hand over his own gauntlet. Perhaps it was his imagination, or else the Gyr Abanian sun, but the leather felt warm to the touch even still.

“Perfectly fine,” he assured Lucia, and nodded toward the gate. “Let us move on.”

“Praise be to the _Fury,”_ one of the knights muttered, as their little company jogged toward the steps; his heart warmed to see the shield-bearers close ranks, carefully surrounding him and their shield-less fellows.

Praise be indeed, he thought, as they plunged into one of the grand courtyards, steel at the ready, but his heart sang its thanks to a goddess among men. 

**Author's Note:**

> come check out the [book club](https://discord.gg/9h2scPZ) to meet fellow writers, readers, and procrastinators.


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